


Double Knot

by TheRealRedRaven



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Adorable, Adorable Bang Chan, Alpha Bang Chan, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Wolf, Anal, Anal Sex, Bang Chan is Whipped, Bang Chan is a Sweetheart, Biting, Claiming Bites, Cute, Cute Bang Chan, Declarations Of Love, Dom Bang Chan, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, F/M, First Kiss, First Love, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gen, Gratuitous Smut, Kissing, Knotting, Loss of Virginity, Love, Love Bites, Love Confessions, Love at First Sight, Mating, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Neck Kissing, Nesting, Romantic Fluff, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Rutting, Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Surprise Kissing, Top Bang Chan, Vaginal Sex, Virgin Bang Chan, Wolf Bang Chan, Wolf Instincts, Wolf Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:27:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22555576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealRedRaven/pseuds/TheRealRedRaven
Summary: New worlds come with new experiences, which the wolf beneath the roof finds out when having enough courage to explore the sensual side of the human horizon of life with a partner.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Reader, Bang Chan/You, Kim Seungmin/Reader, Kim Seungmin/You
Kudos: 50





	Double Knot

Within language there is the phenomenon of “wolf children”, those who have been isolated from language since birth and can therefore not speak as others until a later age and even then there remain discrepancies. Under the condition, the individual is taught to communicate, of course.

Something which the loving brother studying language is more than willing to do for a recent addition to the family regardless of tiring days at the university, disregarding any fatigue weighing shoulders down and fouling mood. If anything, a brightness seems to overtake Seungmin at coming home each day to be enthusiastically greeted by the buff blonde boy who was recently by surprise discovered on a stroll through the forest outside of town. In all honesty, though walking has been perfected, the heart cannot help but melt when being held firmly by strong arms giggling adorably and certainly so when seeing Chris - the first name to reach mutual approval on - stumble forwards on wobbly legs when having just woken from a nap or being sleepy.

From the beginning, the boys have been getting along splendidly which also greatly helps in raising the adopted wolf. When returning to the entrance to the forest, the damaged stranger stalked along, the presence betrayed by the pained grunts endeavouring to ignore the agony of the chest covered like the back in cuts and bruises alongside weird round wounds as if injected with needles multiple times even when likely being dangerous. Regardless of promising to return with medical supplies, the boy refused with fierce barks to go back and wait at wherever the lair called home might have been. Brother dear had humorously commented on the nuzzling of the leg, joking about being like a magnet for the platinum locks that have cheered up the existence of a student and baker profusely. To be more precise, and this earned the sibling a firm slap on the upper arm, it was due to looking and smelling like a cinnamon roll.

A home.

A warm welcome.

Which is given per habit to the lads once the lock of the door to the two-bedroom apartment turns and the vague scent of chloride is on the air, wet hair returned from the weekly, if not more frequent, trip to the swimming pool carrying the fragrance inside. 

Chris seemed more than eager today to go out for a bit of movement, nervously pacing around all morning and strangely avoiding any contact. Not even giving a smile before leaving the house, heading steadfastly towards the exit of the building with Seungmin, who had once again sat at the breakfast table with dark circles, chasing after him.

The sudden distance tugged on the strings holding the heart together in an unexpected manner they never had before, going past friendly caring. It almost felt like heartbreak, ignorant as to the reason for being treated thus. Fortunately, there is always baking to resort to when thoughts become too chaotic to handle. Moreover, it can lead to new items to sell in the shop if the boss approves. 

‘Y/N, we’re home!’ The dull noises of bags put beside the door alongside the hanging of vests, the summer weather too hot to allow even a thin jacket, on the coat rack in the hallway resonate in the quiet home. 

The latch of the oven wherein purple macaroons are currently baking closes just as the front door does and bare feet pad the oaken floor to the living room combined with the kitchen. ‘Hey, boys. You’re just in time for- what’s wrong, big guy?’

Still clad in swimming pants, the buff blonde wolf strides forward to finally establish a form of contact by grabbing warm hands, placing them around the waist before nuzzling the nose. Looking up, bright pure chocolate irises stare down in the same contentment that filters through every time when being like this.

Close.

Safe.

Together.

However, beneath the happiness that could not be conjured in the morn there is a searching urgency begging for privacy. The curious emotion finds a voice in the barely audible whines coming forth from a quickened rising and falling chest, so whatever it is, it must be quite frustrating if the youth is driven to this point of unease. 

‘I think he wants to tell you what’s been bothering him, sis.’ Either deliberately unhelpful or due to exhaustion, likely having been pushed to do multiple swimming laps despite the insomnia problems, all that comes as an elaboration on the translation of the body language is a smug grin on tired lips.

‘You can tell me here.’ Ignoring the sibling’s expression, focus shifts back to Chris, who has established some distance between bodies but keeps holding one hand and tugs on it after a refusing shake of the head. ‘Or how about you first take a shower and then tell me over a cup of tea? The macaroons should be done by then. I hope... but we also still have homemade matcha cake.’

Again, bleached platinum locks deny the proposal while lips purse before an unintelligible begging sound escapes them. Pale cheeks flush with a rosy hue, gaze rapidly shifting to the brother lying down on the couch to a baffled yet concerned lass. After all, the lad might catch a cold thanks to the air conditioning if not at least a shirt is put on. 

‘Believe me, Y/N. You won’t want to make him wait.’ A giggle can barely be suppressed by closed lashes halfway to dozing off, so the topic the men discussed in simple vocabulary must be funny. Or so it is to one party since the other maintains an air of timid awkwardness. 

‘What on earth did you talk about? Seungmin, why are you grinning? What’s going on?’ Throwing glances from one to the other yields nothing in the way of answers, the company preventing their secret from being revealed prematurely a wee bit longer.

‘Something that’s been playing a long time, apparently. I’ll keep an eye on your new creation so don’t worry about burning down the kitchen... again.’ The amusement gains a chastising undertone at the memory of the failed experiment resulting in actual charcoal muffins instead of a homemade copy of the ones from a rivalling bakery a block down the road. 

‘That was only once!’

‘In the past week.’

‘Fair enough.’ Shoulders slump in resignation since there is no counter-argument to be conjured, seeing no way to win the fight. ‘Alright, be right back. But don’t you dare fall asleep and ruin the macaroons. I’ve finally managed the perfect rum-raisin buttercream recipe.’

All that comes as a reply to the obscured threat is a dismissive laughing hand waving lazily. Joke is on Seungmin because the timer is all but subtle in sound.

Thus, bare feet follow a similar pair that have mastered the art of walking after a lot of rising and falling, holding on to a trusted hand until the door to the personal bedroom closes. However, fingers temporarily falling into cooled air entangle again when an attempt is made at sitting on the edge of the bed that is still at times snuck into despite brother dear firmly pleading to share his room with the resident wolf. The original philosophy has changed now that some time has passed and the boy from the woods has adjusted to human life, showing his true amiable colours more and more as days pass. Withal, according to Seungmin, at the very start of living together, it is not chaste nor proper to let a lady sleep with a stranger.

But what if the stranger is not strange at all?

Familiar since first learning how to write?

Trusted by the manner in which pale strands always rest on the chest when getting comfortable on the couch with a book, either dozing off or pretending to read along?

Loved by means of small gestures such as helping to fold the laundry or hold hands while going on the daily hike?

Chris has become as far removed from the title as possible since the meeting in the forest.

Above anything else, he is one thing for certain.

He is human.

One which is tense when pulling on the tangled knot of digits, silently begging to come closer. An unspoken command which is heeded, closing the distance step by bridging step until a free palm rises to easily remove messy stray platinum locks obscuring sweet earthen eyes. The gesture relaxes the nerves standing on edge, a chiselled cheek gladly leaning into the touch when a palm envelops it. ‘So, what did you-’

The soft-spoken question cannot be finished before plush roseate lips lean forward to captivate a broken-off pair after hesitating for a split second. The careful action is easily given into, answering it with full loving sincerity. And in that honesty, the world melts away in a hazee of chloride, sturdy reliable warmth and the scent of pine mixed with musk. 

A combination that breathlessly endeavours to speak when briefly parting for air with an averted gaze, irises darting to the floor before daring to shyly look up again. ‘Want.’

As tends to be the case when solely being able to speak one word at a time as a reaction, fingertips caress the cheek to coax out an elaboration on the timid wolf’s wish. ‘Want what? What do you want, big guy?’

‘You.’ The bottom lip caught between teeth is released, head tilting to the side as an insecure aura overtakes attitude. ‘Me?’

The inquiry does not need further expansion, being more than clear from the doubtful shivers noticeable in the more firm grip on the hand and slightly opened mouth. ‘Yes. I do want you as well, Chris.’ However, the heat radiating from a barely covered body ignites a motherly worry, seeing a feverish flush already starting to show across the cheekbones. The digits formerly showing sweet affection rise up to the forehead, almost immediately flinching at the heat of it. ‘You’re burning up. You shouldn’t have come home in wet swimwear because then you wouldn’t have come down with a cold.’

The fires burning beneath the skin are just as firmly denied as the well-meant chastisement, voice grown uncharacteristically stern. ‘No.’

‘How do you mean- oh.’ The palm estimating the severity of the cold is forcefully given a new intimate place to rest and compelled to stay there by a dominant palm dusted by paper-thin dark hairs, sending the heart racing in a double-edged concoction of perverseness and shame. The odd phenomenon no research about wolf children has ever mentioned arises, strands changing colour to chocolate brown as beastly instincts overtake attitude. ‘Uhm, Chris...’ 

Once more, the curious young man leans in but this time to let foreheads rest against each other. All severity has faded from speech as roles are reversed and it is now him cupping the cheek while whispering with the same concern as shown before. ‘Mate okay?’

‘Mate?’ Apparently, it does not matter that lips have just met intimately for the first time, evidently ready to go a step further where others would have waited. Nonetheless, Chris grew up in a different world with different rules and social behaviours. A place where relationships work in a whole other manner.

Rash.

Momentous.

Without plan or “normal” course.

Like our life together. 

‘Please. Please.’ A brush of lips ends in a big nose often traced as lashes rested peacefully nuzzling the side of the neck. The waist is drawn in with a possessive grip as the cheek is left in mechanically cooled air, the dominance all but minded.

Enjoyed.

Fingertips travel from the hips to the chest, moulding around the right breast and lightly squeezing it through the fabric of one of the shared hoodies. The oversized clothing is comfortable and Chris does not seem to mind that on occasion one of his shirts is stolen for personal use. In fact, it never fails to bring about a canine-showing grin when doing so.

Which is not pressed into the throat, desperate whimpering pecks peppering the skin as hard obvious wanting is pressed against the thigh instead of the palm that holds on to the rim of the damp ink-black trunks. ‘Hurt. It hurt.’

It is then that the explanation behind the fever becomes crystal clear by body language. It would appear there is more animal beneath the skin than initially thought when meeting three months ago when the same change in appearance would occur when triggered or becoming like a jealous lover out of the blue when walking the streets together. 

‘Why didn’t you say you were in season?’ The kindness of tone is met by a begging small bite, stinging as canines sink into the area between the neck and shoulder yet soothed straight away by an affectionate tongue. A second one does not follow, a hesitant ghosting over flesh the sole contact before locking gazes to check for consent. Withal, it is not merely asking for permission for more binding brands but also more baring of skin, tugging on the edge of the onyx hoodie in a request to take it off.

A silent wish to be granted willingly and, perhaps, eagerly, worming out of the hot pants to have at least some decent covering below as well so that underwear is all that is left to see. ‘I’ll be your mate.’

For a moment, kind deep brown irises light up, a bright ruby flashing past and remaining as a superimposed shade when taking in what was hidden underneath while tracing every curve and measuring every reaction. The touch leaves goosebumps in its wake, fueling the sensual anticipation that holds a curiosity about how it would when our moons collide. To be in a marriage between Woman and Beast. 

Breaking the spell of fascination at the show of onyx lace, genuine care filters through in speech turned into a low growling, beastly impatience barely suppressed. ‘Really okay?’

‘Yes. Yes, it’s really okay.’

And it is because of that lack of patience combined with the consent, there is a hasty undertone in behaviour as bare feet lead steadily forward and a second pair follows by going backwards until calves meet the bed and the wolf is pulled along. But the innocent smile vanishes as fast as it appeared when legs spread and desire is pressed hard against wetness, the friction of clothed wanting maddening like the nails digging into the thigh to have a pillar of support for disconnected thrusts and growls disrupted by contrasting whimpers.

Nevertheless, before fully diving into sin, one last thing has to be done to prevent any unplanned consequences.

‘Baby, let me- ah! L- Let me grab a-’ The sentence gets lost in the whimpering sting of a novel bite on the side, lashes shutting firmly against the hurt as nails leave indents in muscled upper arms wandering lower. ‘Grab a condom.’

And travel upward again, snarling on a warning tone against quivering lips. ‘No.’

Which try to persevere in their argument. ‘Really, it’s better if-’

Yet are undeniably refused as damp swimwear is wriggled out of while maintaining an unwavering lock of gazes. ‘No.’

‘Chris, please.’ With a grunted powerful tug, dark lace is savagely ripped off and the teasing continues in a low-sounding lewd symphony of hot wetness as delirious transformed strands cover feverishly blazing crimson orbs. ‘Slo- Slow d- down!’

Ending by an unprotected final note as foreheads rest against each other, the upset veins of the coy hard shape setting painful fire to the flames already burning. ‘Want feel you. Feel me.’

A moment for adjustment is not given, wolfish lashes gladly closing while well-defined arms wrap around the waist. Agonized panting tears are pressed into biceps as hair is affectionately played with. The bottom lip is caught between teeth, suppressing the sobbing screams on the verge of breaking out thanks to the double-edged concoction of hurt and perverse delight. The lover seemingly takes no notice of it, too busily occupied with placing more obvious marks of belonging while panting and snarling in pure animalistic satisfaction. 

However, a very gentle whimper underlines the vicious sound and finds more of a voice when the nose is nuzzled in a request to be looked at. What is to be seen is a sliver of the sincere young man beneath the skin of the beast, the boy habitually resting on the chest after a long day and whose hand is held on walks together.

The extraordinary man to have built a home with.

Chris.

‘No cry. Need be, grm, good. Why sad?’ Continuing to caress fanned-out strands, uncomprehending reddened irises ask the question for they do not understand that this sensuality can be double-sided and that sometimes love is fulfilling even when it is painful. Notwithstanding, there is a chaste elation at the hurt being remarked upon even when solely focused on reaching oblivious bliss.

‘I- I am not sad. You’re just a little... too much?’ The tilt of the head says more than enough, though attention clearly is divided when nails ghost from the lower back to the cheeks only to return to the original subject at a slight squeak caused by a heavy throbbing twitch. Salty drops are kissed away, an indescribable unintelligible murmur asking for elaboration. ‘You’re a big guy, Chris. Move a bit- yeah, like that. Slo- ah!’

All movements halt immediately when a pained moan erupts at the rapid harsh renewed intrusion and hint of an inhuman swelling. ‘Too... fast?’

‘And a bi- bit too hard.’ Hands stir hips no longer pistoning into motion, guiding them to move like the waves on the shore. ‘Like this.’

The set pace is maintained individually, lips brushing when not connecting in sloppy wolffish kisses. Voice reduces to soft-spoken purring, the beast still shimmering beneath the surface of the tender expression gazing down in admiring wonder. ‘Better?’

‘Y- Yeah. Much,’ a little more strength is exerted to reach a new mind-boggling depth formerly uncharted, leaving any sense of logic tethering on a precarious sensual edge, ‘much better!’

The strength of the nails digging deeper into flexing broad shoulders is mirrored in the grip on the thigh firmly pressed against the side. Canines appreciatively sink into flesh left alone until now, the crimson licked away and the sharp agony soothed into a dull throbbing. ‘Perfect. You, hrm, perfect. Love you. Love you a lot.’

Chocolate locks are gripped tightly as their mewling counterparts hold on to rippling muscles, getting lost in the continuous flow of hollowness and fulfilment in incredible bodily depths. ‘I love you too. A- Always have, always will.’

Once more, all motions disappointedly halt as an earlier inhuman suggestion makes itself known again, finding the words to ask for clear permission which are lowly murmured in doubt. ‘Knot okay?’

‘I- I don’t know if I- I’d be able to handle it.’ The tangible throbbing below does not care for the lack of faith in being able to handle a wolf’s gratitude, held back by the terrifyingly unknown physical consequences. After all, pleasure has only been found after a searing stretch and the one which is proposed will likely be worse of a pain than the first collision of galaxies. 

‘You can.’ A kiss on the forehead is full of tender encouragement, filled by the genuine belief it is possible to take it despite the fear of the stretch. The one on the nose adds to the contrast between personal beliefs, a calloused thumb affectionately caressing the cheek. ‘You can.’

Finding courage in the support and deciding to at least take the wager, digits reach out for the bedside table. It has to be tried to be a proper mate for Chris regardless of coming from another world, the promise wants to be kept. Clumsily though successfully, the thing in mind is found in the drawer, digits clutching around a cylindrical purple plastic container that rouses the curiosity of the sweet rough lover tilting his head to the side. Not even sensuality appears to be strong enough to nullify the youth’s ever-present craving for knowledge about the human world. ‘What that?’

‘It’s lube.’ The curt elaboration does little if nothing to change Chris’ puzzled expression, so a wee bit more essentially uninformative info is given by a mind under the influence of the mentally clouding haze ignited by sin. ‘It won’t hurt if we use this.’

‘I no wanna hurt you.’

‘I know you don’t, but you need to breed and I’m your mate, aren’t I?’ A quick frantic nod adorably affirms the proclamation, tiny lights dancing in ruby-tinted orbs to illuminate the pride of being bound. ‘It’s fine, babe.’

‘Okay. Use it.’

As soon as consent is given, a good blob of the aiding liquid is put onto the palm out of the bottle with a squirting sound which makes the chocolate wolf reconsider the decision. After all, how can something that sounds like that be good? 

The reluctance is rapidly taken away, however, once painfully throbbing skin is excessively acquainted with the gel, voluminous low purring rising from the depths of the chiselled chest as the movements below are regarded with blatant appreciation that spreads unchaste joy in oneself as well. ‘Does it feel good, big guy?’

‘Y- Yeah~ Mhm!’

The teasing squeeze, though, is not as highly valued as the additional stimulation, a threatening snarl introducing a beastly speed to hips which calls for holding on tightly to broad shoulders. There is no room for any sort of thought, canines sinking into skin as painfully as the bruising grip on the waist exerting clear dominance. The lewd squelching sounding vaguely in the background muddled by the uncensored sounds of sheer pleasure also does not particularly help.

Withal, what eradicates any sense of Reason is the simultaneous tumbling into glad oblivion, Chris unapologetically forcing in the swelling touched earlier in perverse curiosity. The wonder about how it would feel like to have it inside is as satisfied as the proud chuckle bubbling up from the muscled puffed-out chest weighing down the one which is still fairly chastely covered by nightly lace.

Panting, a big nose nuzzles the damaged neck while humming in high content. ‘Told you can. I’m happy.

Nevertheless, the pain from the binding marks is nothing compared to the burning on-going stretch. Not even the wolf’s happiness nor the affectionate ruffling of fanned-out locks can distract from it, the agony too evident to disregard by basking in the sinful bliss or the young lover’s joy. ‘It hurts. Chris, it really hurts.’

‘But you said,’ eyebrows furrow in genuine confusion as an answer is sought in the tears streaming down the cheeks, ‘lube makes feel good.’

‘Yeah, but- but,’ a hand reaches up to caress the jaw before combing through dishevelled chocolate strands, ‘you’re a big guy. A bit, mhm!’ 

A tangible eruption cuts the sentence short, briefly distracting focus and let it return to the source of distress which, in turn, fuels the dazement of a boy not introduced to the human world that long ago. Lips lovingly kiss the droplets on the cheeks away since that seems to be the only thing they can do, patiently waiting for elaboration while softly helping through the distress in a suppressed remorseful panic. ‘Please, no cry. Hate it. Hurts me. Hate I hurt you.’

‘You ca- can’t help it, Chris. Come here.’

Mouths gently find each other, fingers continuing to run through silky hair as the kiss deepens and the shivers of ecstasy and agony fade entirely. Unoccupied digits entwine on the pillow, holding on till desire has softened after ten minutes of muffling mewls by seeking solace in every point of touch. Withal, novel trembles are evoked at the relieving sensation of hollowness accompanied by the discomfort of something thick streaming out.

‘So pretty. Pretty mate.’ A quick peck emphasizes the sinful joy of the situation, which erases part of the worst of the soreness. ‘You my pride. Strong, elegant, maleficent.’

A chuckle cannot be helped at the sweetly meant albeit mistaken choice of words, regardlessly showing appreciation by scratching Chris behind the ear. ‘I think you mean “magnificent”.’

‘Maleficent, hm, nice,’ lashes close as a quicksilver satisfied smile flashes by, a small though extraordinary lovely sight, ‘is not the same?’

‘No, there’s a difference. Maleficent is another word for evil. Magnificent, however, means something is extremely beautiful.’

Closed eyes open again, carefully pronouncing the correct phrasing after a failed attempt and clearly proud of the clumsy linguistic success. ‘You’re mag- magni- mag. Ni. Fi. Cent.’

A ridiculous sinful idea pops up at noticing the beach blonde of bleached strands has not yet returned and the crimson undertone of irises otherwise the shade of autumnal earth remains. Appearances and demeanour were thought to have transformed while the obsession of the beast within with its bloodline was fully satisfied. The opposite appears to be the truth, which, in all honesty, is not really minded. After all, despite the roughness, it felt good.

Sincere.

Loving.

A man loving a woman with his whole heart.

‘Shall I show you something magnificent, too?’ 

Catching on to the implication, the fingers on the adjacent pillow come undone when turning onto the stomach despite the worried wolfish noises of calloused palms, hovering over the waist to potentially offer support while switching positions. 

Only to rest fully on skin when lying down again and raising the behind with a slight regret for personal stamina is lower than Chris’s and the bodily unease from before lingers in the same gradation without the prospect of fading entirely any time soon.

Instinctively, hands start to lightly massage the skin handed to them, careful in their touch as they explore this novel turn of events. Uncertainty stains the lover’s voice, underlining sensual boyish delight and beastly sexual anticipation waiting for explicit consent. ‘What you want?’

‘You can breed me here too.’ A tad awkwardly, digits reach backwards to guide hardened wanting still throbbing in wantonness towards a doubtful source for pleasure. Notwithstanding, the most wants to be given during the lad’s first time of being in season. ‘If we use lube.’

‘Breed there too?’ The hesitance is obviously picked up on, the wonderfully moving palms coming to an abrupt halt. A look over the shoulder tells of reddened earthly irises asking for assurance, transformed chocolate locks tilting to the side doubting personal capabilities of a self-proclaimed mate without meaning to insult. If anything, it is out of genuine care. ‘Sure?’

‘Yeah, I’m sure. Just try to be gentle and go a bit slower.’

‘Like before, before you squeezed me.’ Out of the blue, a hard slap disrupts the soft panting of lovers. One of whom is displeased by what was inherently meant in perverse jest, bringing abrupt tears to eyes gasping in surprise at the sudden harshness. ‘No like that.’

A loud yelp cannot be muffled in time, sure to have been heard by the brother napping in the living room. Then again, in hindsight, the noises of passionate obsession might have been heard all this time, a fact that enhances the shame of burning cheeks hiding in the pillows. ‘I’m sorry!’ Another rough slap evokes a voluminous squeak, though curiously finding a masochistic delight in the degradation. ‘I won’t do it again!’

‘Good. Otherwise,’ warm breath ghosts over the ear before a feral snarl makes all the remaining strength melt away, ‘breed all night. You pass out and I keep going.’

Sinfully dreaming of the situation, unwavering Logic still manages to call the lover out on what is perceived as mere bluff and insults the low creativity of the punishment. ‘Is that the worst you can think of?’

Hair is gathered in a firm fist and viciously pulled back as a sensual threat is clearly pressed into the side of the neck. ‘Also breed in public.’

The mere prospect of being chastised thus makes demeanour cower into fear, the vivid images conjured by the simple thought making it near impossible to look Chris in the eye if free reign is given from the wonderfully albeit agonizing possessive grip. ‘Alright, I get it. I’m sorry.’

The beastly growling lowers into satisfied purring, the delight showing in the loosening hold over strands. ‘Good girl.’ 

Only to be replaced by an equally strong hand on the back of the neck which compels a hardly sane freshly proclaimed mate to rest among the cushions. ‘Lie down.’

The demanding tone refuses the show of any sign of protest, making sure no movement could suggest a potential escape from the excitement yet to come. Not that the intention even dares to arise in a dazed conscience hypnotized by having a wolf for a lover, a sentiment which is acknowledged by the all but hasty manner of prepping for a new venture. The sound of the pet bottle adds a sliver to the anticipation but what really makes the heart tap its feet in impatience is the lewd squelching which goes accompanied by low grunts, the combination tuning out all other sounds and effectively worsening the alabaster- leaking heat between thighs. The beige pillow is held in a tighter moaning embrace when a slender finger spreads the liquid aid around and a bit inside, amazed at how uncomfortable yet fulfilling it feels to be taken thus regardless of the shallow touch.

For now. 

Paradoxically sweet, plush lips place a sweet kiss on the right butt cheek followed by a harmless bite meant to place a binding mark there as well. The skin is massaged once more, the gesture as unsure as when dealing with porcelain when afraid it might break. ‘Still sure?’ 

Breathing is as unsteady as the shivers running down the spine, anxious yet curious to the more than likely different sensations to be had. ‘Yeah.’

The position leading to hopefully passionate obsession is carefully taken on, a hand resting between the shoulder blades, rubbing them to tranquil them. as the other guides hips to the desired height. ‘If no want more, me stop. You tell me stop. OK?’

‘OK.’

The palm sneaking up to pin the neck to the mattress is fairly unnecessary, the muscles of the face burying itself into the cushion tensing up in defence against the languid intrusion. Hearing automatically ignores the meek whimpers that likely spill forth, focusing on the leaking heat between thighs and the ferocious growling instead. Notwithstanding, in spite of the agonizing stretch that equals the one from before, it results in the same storm of emotions of strange sensual delight.

‘Good?’ A dark chuckle is blatantly satisfied with the confirming mewl once entirely inside, the unintelligible yelling reaction to a slap on the behind fueling the perverse amusement. 

A chiselled muscled chest weighs down the back as the grip over the neck fades, making moving impossible as hips held in a manner which shall surely leave bruises gladly makes galaxies collide over and over. Behind closed lashes, nothing arises in thought because thinking is a capability entirely nullified by the primal lover, the sole sign of some sort of intelligence being reacting with primary sounds of submission to the snarling resonating in the ears.

Which rise in volume even more when Chris speeds up yet are, fortunately, muffled by biting down on the cover of the mattress. Remarking on the action, slender fingers snake around the sides over the sheets to intertwine with ones cramped in pleasure. ‘Calm. Is too tight.’

The laughably chaste action proves effective, managing to relax when all movements halt and a moment is taken to be absorbed by the chest that was nursed back to health after the first meeting. As breathing is regulated, the memory of sickly mustard yellow and plum purple bruises alternated with crimson cuts on the pale skin of the upper body arises. Nevertheless, it were the injection wounds that took the longest to heal completely, the upset veins and ridged edges now fairly smoothed out yet easy to remark on when the light falls in at a certain angle or when touching. 

The advances nullifying speech to submissive noises are picked up again at the sound of a sigh glad to have taken Chris in, humbly joyous over where the decision has brought us. A big nose nuzzles the side of the neck, vanilla and mint flooding the overstimulated senses. ‘Good. Love this. Love you. Wanna, grm, hrm, knot. Gonna.’ 

The desperation for white blinding bliss deepens the rough sinful loving, sharp short breaths betraying the wolf is growing closer and closer to the release from reality. Nevertheless, the soft encouragement sounds steadier than the mutual sense of consciousness in the face of no longer tethering on the edge. ‘You take it. Know you can. Look at me.’ 

When the wish is not heeded, one bundle of fingers unravels so the cheek can be turned for a proper vis-a-vis, a feverish forehead rests against a barely sane one, purring. ‘Open eyes. Y/N, look at me.’

Deep chocolate locks have lightened in hue to a light mocha shade, signifying more of the human boy cloaked in the skin of a beast has risen to the surface. The crimson hue in earthly irises lingers, though the genuine affection shines brighter than sheer primal need. ‘You can. Really. But know it hurts. Focus on me.’ The firmer grip on the waist is contrasted by the flash of a boyish smile on caring lips parted in panting wantonness. ‘Focus on me.’

And that, indeed, is what is done once a violent big wave of oblivion washes away the last of Logic, Time and Space at the same time. Through the renewed hurt of the swelling, Christopher is the anchor among the sheets to not tumble into the agonizing ruin of perverse satisfaction, gazes locked as brows furrow in messy passionate relief and paradoxically happy tears are kissed away.

When normalcy sets in with the introduction of immense discomfort, the body is allowed to move albeit only to turn onto the side to lessen the sensation of the heavily leaking aftermath. A calloused hand kindly swipes the strands obscuring the face aside before affectionately caressing the cheek, bright earth-toned irises no longer tinted by beastly scarlet. ‘Get towel. Be back soon.’

The wet lukewarm towel moves slowly and precariously over skin when Chris returns from the bathroom, monitoring every movement to not miss any sign, no matter how subtle, of worsening the physical situation rather than making it better. Once cleaned up a wee bit, the lover helps with putting on a pair of cotton boxers and onyx hoodie taken from the closet of the room shared with Seungmin, a bit of dominance shining through in the chosen pieces of clothing. With short commands, exhausted hips and arms are lifted, at times with the support of guiding hands sliding on the fabrics.

However, when dressed, an idea obviously pops up in the mind of light burnt caramel messy locks proudly looking down after fluffing the pillows to enhance the comfort of the bed. Hastily, the mattress springs back as the wolf gets up and leaves the room, leaving a newly claimed mate puzzled among the sheets. Especially more so when returning, arms laden with warm hoodies that are tossed on tucked-in legs before Chris moves to the closet to collect every sweater and hoodie come across and add them to the pile.

‘What are you doing?’ No sense can be made of the determined effort put into the apparent selection, the lover spitting through the pile of tops and somehow thus deciding on what to put where. If the little assortments of fabric do, indeed, each serve a different purpose. 

Picking up one of them and putting them to use, the mattress dips a bit under the new weight. Deep concentration shapes a calculating expression on a beautiful face, unable to be distracted from the purpose of building something like a pillow fort. ‘Nest.’

‘What?’

‘Nest.’ The intonation leaves no room for protest, naturally assuming knowing what the intent is about and the acceptance of it. A caring arm snakes around the shoulders to help them rise a little so a few of the pieces of clothing can be tucked into the freed-up space before being allowed to lie down again. ‘Let me handle.’

A few minutes of silent unanswered questions wherein the labour is merely observed pass until, at last, with a pleased grunt a sufficient enough result is achieved. Lying on a comfortable cozy heap of our clothes is what is apparently meant with a nest but, to let honesty speak, it is actually quite nice. In fact, it evokes a lazy drowsiness that spreads a warm fuzzy feeling throughout.

Which grows when a big nose finds rest on the makeshift alternative bed as well, contently nudging one’s own while being enclosed in a loving embrace and fingers are absent-mindedly played with. ‘Cwute pwaws. Mate deserves good nest. Is alpha’s task to give.’

‘What did you say? What is cute?’

A better effort at articulation clears up the murmured compliment, the lover trying his best to speak properly. ‘You… have. Cute. Paws.’

Nothing is said of the mistake between human and wolf, leaving the matter for what it is and simply basking in the domesticity of the intimacy after rewarding the clear speech with a peck on the forehead. 

The angelic image is stunning, a content grin tugging at the corners of the mouth of closed lashes having stopped their playful fumbling. The lover’s skin seems to glow, basking in the peacefulness of the aftermath of the sensual storm. As if wanting assurance the current reality is not a mere mirage, a flame on the wall, a fingertip traces the features of the soul slowly starting to doze off and rises to run through lightened hair, repeating the gesture and inwardly rejoicing in the low purring that fills the silence. ‘You look fluffy.’

‘Yes, I’m fluffy.’ The puzzled look of momentarily fully-awake brows furrowed in incomprehension smoothes into amused affection when recalling the loving undertone of the compliment. The hug tightens, Chris adorably nuzzling strands pulled inescapably to a finally calmly breathing chest. ‘Fluffy wolf.’

‘And does my fluffy wolf want to help make macaroons after a nap?’ Hopefully, Seungmin has woken up in time to pull the violet shells from the oven because the process takes enough time as is and would rather not be repeated. 

Although the sibling will have to since it would be his fault if purple has blackened. 

‘Sounds fun. Also, alpha should help mate whenever possible.’ A kiss on the forehead ends the conversation, legs entangling to make sure leaving is impossible. ‘For now, nap. Must be tired.’

Around dinner time, cooled baking trays with perfectly baked macaroon shells waiting to be assembled patiently wait in a turned-off oven so the counters can be used for cooking. Seungmin says nothing upon waking locks returned to platinum and their mistress nor of the mess that was made in the throes of passionate obsession and its sweet aftermath nor of the change of clothes. All the little brother does is grin all the while with a knowing look. 

Indeed, Chris had something to say that did not want to be missed.

Just like the curious leaning in while observing how to perfectly pipe the filling or the bright puppy-like expression when offered one of the baked goods as dessert, happily munching when being fed and pouting when he has to work for the delicacy.

A few are taken back to the bedroom to share over a cup of warm cocoa, the perfect treat on a lazy night filled with reading and soothing the wolf to sleep who desperately tries to uphold the mirage of reading along. Notwithstanding, when the drowsy nodding begins to dangerously border on actually falling asleep which would stain the sheets with chocolate, the mug is taken from slim fingers as the novel is put aside on the bedside table. Nestled against the warm chest scented by woody vanilla and surrounded by veined secure arms, a hand rises to lull a mind caught between two worlds into slumber by scratching softly behind the ear.

A gesture proving quite effective for the final twilight kiss on the forehead is acknowledged by an unconscious satisfied grunt. ‘Goodnight, Chris.’

And so we go gently into that good night.

Embracing the dying of the light.


End file.
